


Figments of the Mind

by LeeMorrigan



Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Filling in Harry's backstory, Flashbacks, Gen, Irish breakfast tea, Magic, Memories, Other, Spies, Whitelighter, Who was Fiona, Witch - Freeform, World War One, good cuppa, wwi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 07:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16471379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeMorrigan/pseuds/LeeMorrigan
Summary: Harry compared Mel to the late Fiona, another witch whom Harry had cared for. Who was this Fiona? Harry remembers his first, and favorite, witch as he helps the Charmed ones deal with the virgin-snacking demon.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Canon-compliant up to the end of Episode 3. I haven't seen the original series in years and I'm using the details from an old press release from when Rupert Evans was hired to the CHARMED cast to help fill in details of Harry's past.  
> Flashbacks take place during WWI, the rest takes place mostly over the course of the latter half of ep3.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: there is a description of a sanitarium and a patient's treatment there, as well as of Harry's death. If death scenes or descriptions of poorly cared for mentally-disturbed patients upsets you, please skip this one? Otherwise, I hope you enjoy reading and that you are enjoying the show.

_Once upon a World War…_

Officer Harry Greenwood looked at himself in the mirror. After his time as an actor, then a spy, it was rather odd to see himself in the mirror. A stranger stood looking back at him from the hotel’s mirror. Tonight was special, and he had wanted to look the part. He just felt like he was playing another part.

He took a step back, allowing him to see the whole picture he made in his uniform, hair perfectly coiffed, and all his ribbons in place. His parents would be proud when he came home. He had one last mission.

Harry smiled, slipping his fingers into his trouser pocket. A little metal box, almost in the shape of a lipstick case but thicker. It held something precious. The little gold band with a few tiny, barely big enough to sparkle, diamonds. All he could afford on his current salary, though she would love it.

It was still in his pocket. And Harry still had almost an hour to get down to the restaurant. Tonight would be perfect.


	2. I Wish I Could Make You Listen

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Again. She had frozen her students and was checking the phone of the shaggy-faced male. Sometimes he couldn’t believe how often these three made him want to forget his oaths, especially Mel.

She was so reckless, so headstrong. Harry sometimes wished he could snap his fingers and make her sit still and quiet as she did to the world, so he could force her to listen. Granted, that would likely only earn him a lecture from her about patriarchy and how terrible a choice it was for him to head up the Women’s Studies Department, once he brought her out of the spell.

Then it came to him. The bracelet.

“Now when you do magic, I’ll be alerted.”

He made sure to snap himself out of there, before she could make too much of a fuss. Harry hated to do it. The bracelet brought back a few too many bad memories, though he feared Mel needed something to remind her how serious this was.

“Harry, it isn’t right to Lo-Jack the girl.”

He shook his head, still able to hear the echo of her after all this time. Knowing he was totally alone in his office, he gave into the urge to answer back as if she were still in the room.

“I didn’t Lo-Jack her, I simply gave her a physical anchor to remind her”, he was interrupted.

“Harry, you do remember you could never lie to me, right?”

“First you were a mind-reader, now you’re a ghost in my head. It simply isn’t fair, Fee.”

She grinned at him, the dimples showing in her plump cheeks he had adored. As pink and irresistible in his daydream as they were in life.

“Aw, don’t be throwin’ your ‘poor poor English boy’ routine at me. Didn’t work in 1917, doesn’t work now.”

“Of course not, the Americans are still a bit dodgy on the old Empire.”

“With good reason, your lot never knew when to heave ho and shove off.”

Harry smiled as he sank down in his desk chair, behind his massive desk. He had replaced the one from his predecessor, sending it back to the house for Mel, Maggie, and Macy to decide what they wanted to do with it. This desk was more his style. An antique carved from English Oak.

“She reminds me of you, ya know? She’s tough, speaks her mind, and cares far too much.”

Fiona, or rather the figment of her that his mind liked to torture and comfort him with, walked closer to his desk to perch a hip over the edge. She was shooting him that look she always gave when she knew something he didn’t. He had spent a lot of time on the receiving end of that look. Even after she had been committed.

“That why you’re being so hard on her?”

“Maybe.”

“This isn’t World War One, Harry Greenwood. And Mel is not me.”

“You were wonderful.”

“Yes, but I let the world around me tell me who I ought to be, what I ought to act like.”

“You were just a kid.”

Fiona’s ghost held up a delicate finger, silencing him. With a soft smile, she continued.

“Yes, and she’s not the naive, pushover that I could be at times. Her mother raised her to be a powerhouse. Mine raised me to be a housewife and healer. Her mother expected greatness and raised her accordingly. Mine expected babies and sewing.”

He nodded. The turn of the last century had been a very different time. Though there were a few similarities. The tumult of the whole world changing, a sense that nothing would be the same, and the feeling that the world was getting smaller.

“Witches are… even less accepted now.”

“Now everyone thinks it is a life style choice.”

Harry snorted, earning a chuckle. Fiona moved closer, her ghostly fingers trailing across the globe at the corner of Harry’s desk. He had picked that up in Rome around 50 years ago. It was brass and reflected the images of the world from a century earlier.

“Do you remember that weekend in France?”

Nodding, he cast his mind back to that weekend. It hadn’t been meant to be a holiday. He was supposed to be tracking some covert agents. Then it turned out that Fiona had been given a similar assignment.

The hotel was lavish. Golden railings and trimming on purple-velvet chairs, white gleaming tablecloths, sparkling silverwear, men in expensive tails, ladies in shimmering gowns with their hair pinned in beautiful curls. The smell of fine cigars and French cigarettes filled the air, along with hints of the steak and wine.

Harry handed off his coat, gloves, hat, and scarf to the gentleman with a slick little mustache, then descended the stairs into the main lounge area. The band was playing a lively enough tune to keep the patrons upbeat, yet not quiet at a pace meant for dancing.

A waiter appeared, showing Harry to a table where he was expecting to meet a couple spies who were leaking information about England’s movements, supplies, and more. His glass of expensive wine had just arrived at the table when the band changed pace with a new, sultry tune.

Harry raised his glass, taking a sip of the rich, thick liquid. He could never afford such wine back home, assuming he could even locate a bottle of such an elixir back in London. Setting the glass back down, Harry cast a look towards the door.

Before he could spot any of the men he was to meet, a familiar throaty voice crooned. Harry turned. Curly brown hair styled with a sparkling clip, a shimmering pewter gown that hugged the body of a short, shapely siren. Fiona Desmond. Singer, spy, world-traveler, and unbeknownst to most who met her, a witch.

Harry smiled. No matter what, missions or no, he was going to enjoy this. He so rarely got the chance to listen to her singing.

A knock at the door roused Harry from his stroll through Memory Lane. At his door stood a young man with a stack of books in his arms and a confused look on his face. Mr.Eddie Carrows. Journalism major and Women’s Studies minor.

“Professor Greenwood, do you have a minute?”

Harry smiled, gesturing to a chair across from his desk.

“Of course, Mr.Carrows. How may I help you?”


	3. You Remind Me of Her

Harry felt the drain on his own magical energies as he drew Macy back. His hand and wrist cramped, sweat dampened his brow, all while a cold seeped out from his center, filling his veins with ice water. Then Macy breathed and he stopped. She was safe. For now.

“I am so, so sorry. Will you ever forgive me?”

Macy offered a tired smile, rising on sore seeming limbs, with Maggie, Mel, and Harry’s assistance.

“Well, you just saved my life, so I think I can let this one slide.”, the eldest sister joked.

“Well, what do we do about her?”, Mel asked, bringing all their attentions back to the unconscious demon and his host. Harry did not want to answer them. He knew it was nothing they would like.

“The Elders will want to weigh in. Why don’t you go clear out the house. I’ll handle things here.”, Harry offered.

None of the three argued with Harry’s plan, all a bit too shaken and raw, still coming down from the adrenaline as well. Maggie went with Macy, presumably to return to the house and take care of her Kappa-mess. Mel remained.

“Harry, you were right. I was being reckless and I almost killed Macy.”

“See? Teachable moment.”, he tried to joke. “But lest you forget, you also brought down and immensely power demon, and you were the first one to suspect Angela Wu might be the vessel.”

It was important they know how powerful they were, and to remember to take the wins along with the losses. Harry was all too aware that, someday, he might not be there. They needed as much training as he could give them and as quickly as possible.

“Hold on, was that a compliment?”, she asked with a smile.

Harry smiled, looking away.

“You really are just like her.”, came his quiet utterance as he turned to his next task. The demon and it’s vessel.

“My mom?”, Mel ventured.

“No.”, Harry answered. It hurt even now, to think of her. So lively and wonderful, so vivacious and kind. Not unlike the woman behind him, though a good deal different.

“Then who?”

Turning, he let out a small breath before he explained.

“There is a reason I’ve been so hard on you. You’re not the only witches I’ve ever looked after. Her name was Fiona. She was passionate, talented, and stubborn like you.”, explained Harry.

“What happened to her?”

Harry could see that she was really listening, and she genuinely wanted to know. He could remember it like it was yesterday, though he felt compelled to protect Fiona, even now. He spared the crueler details.

“She trusted the wrong person with her secret. Fiona was institutionalized. They thought she was schizophrenic. They drugged her till she doubted the truth. Then finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.”, he didn’t have to explain his meaning. Mel clearly understood the implication. She was a Women’s Studies professor, after all. Who better to be able to take a leap and guess what became of a woman in a bygone era, who seemed too powerful and a bit crazy to boot, when at the hands of powerful men who feared her.

“Losing her made me who I am. Vigilant. Protective. And I supposed that’s why I was given the honor of serving alongside you three.”

Mel nodded. She didn’t miss the slip. ‘Serving alongside’. Military terminology. Whoever, or whatever Harry had been in his however many years, he had served a stint in the military, she was sure.

Though right now her attempts to decipher his past and his intentions seemed unimportant. He had saved her sister and, if his eyes and tone were anything to go by, he was remembering a very old heartache. Mel could see it, as if the wounds were fresh.

“I’m not gonna tell Nikko, _for now_. But Harry I’m not Fiona. I’m not gonna be reckless anymore.”

Harry believed her. With a wave, he removed the bracelet. Mel’s eyes went wide as she moved her wrist, as if experiencing some great freedom of motion for the first time in an age. Although, Harry supposed that she had felt rather shackled.

“When this war against evil is nolonger at our doorstep,” Harry vowed, “I will help you get permission to tell her.”

Mel smiled before she left to join her sisters. Once he was sure they were gone, Harry turned his attention back to the demon and his vessel.

“Now what am I going to do about you?”, he muttered.


	4. Moonlight Swim in France

“Come on, soldier boy, the water looks beautiful!”

“I haven’t a bathing costume, Fiona. And the sun has been down for hours, the water will be freezing.”, tried to reason the young man as he heedlessly ran after his favorite singer.

“Silly English boy!”, she called over her shoulder. Harry smiled, tugging at his tie. He supposed swimming in his undergarments would hardly be the worst thing.

They arrived at the beach to find it empty except for the two of them. He took a moment to admire the view. A full, bright moon overhead, the dark sea crashing against the white sands. It was beautiful. Breathtaking.

“I don’t figure a midnight dip, in our underthings, would be too horrible a sin.”

A light giggle filled the air. Turning, Harry saw that Fiona had already tossed her dress aside on the sand, along with her shoes, shawl, and hosiery. She was working on her slip as she looked over her pale shoulder at Harry, a naughty grin lighting her face with mischief and excitement.

“Who said anything about underthings?”

Harry’s jaw dropped open as he tried to speak, likely looking as a freshly caught trout. He had yet to recover when the slip and brasier hit the sand. Even a thick swallow did nothing to restore ability to speak.

“You coming?”

Harry tried to nod, undo his jacket buttons, walk, and smile at the same time. He succeeded only in tripping and falling into Fiona. She caught him as she laughed, full and from her belly.

“You always so charming with the lasses, English?”

Nothing charming came to mind in reply, so he settled for the truth.

“I save all my best lines for you, Fee.”

That earned him a kiss. A long, slow, sweet kiss. Then a playful shove across the chest before she turned from his embrace and ran headlong into the sea. Harry followed shortly behind, just as soon as he stripped out of his party attire, leaving it scattered across the beach next to all of Fiona’s things.

They swam and splashed, with Fiona diving down a few times. Harry lost her for a moment, spinning around in vain to try to spot her in the dark water. Then suddenly, she sprang up like a mermaid.

“I’m here.”

Harry let out a breath before diving over to her.

“I had thought I’d lost you.”

“I know,” she added, “but I’m not that easy to lose.”

Without pause, Fiona clasped the back of his neck and tugged him down to her level so he could kiss her as he wanted to. There were wonderful parts of being with a woman who could read his mind. Her ease of at figuring out his intentions was only one of them.

“I love you, Harry Greenwood.”

Her confession stunned him. He was stupefied. Dumbfounded. A total goner. Cupping her round, beautiful face in his hands, Harry gazed into those sparkling, pale-green eyes.

“And I love you, Fiona Desmond.”

He was about to ask her to marry him, to share this life with him, when she pressed a finger to his lips. He paused, worried.

“Ask me when the war is over.”

Smiling against her finger, Harry gave a little nod. Fiona rewarded him with a wide smile before removing her finger to replace it with her full, warm lips. He would never, ever tire of this.

They spent a good while longer in the water, just being two people young, stupid, reckless, and in love. He loved her so much, he could not wait for the war to end so he could marry her and take her back to Ireland, where her powers were not so conspicuous in her little village, and they could live there in peace for the rest of their days.


	5. Fiona's Fate

Harry waited. He could hear the sisters coming up the stairs to the attic. In a moment, he would need to lay out the plan of the Elders, and accept whatever snarky or worried responses they had in response to the Elders’ decision.

Maggie came through the door first, followed by Mel and Macy. They all saw the huddled form of the demon in his vessel over in the corner. Chained, but still very much dangerous to anyone who got too close.

Harry explained the Elders’ decision to the Charmed ones, letting them know that the chains did not render the demon powerless or safe to be around. It was not a clever plan from the Elders and Harry did not like it any more than the Charmed ones.

Once the three had gone back down stairs, Harry sat back in his chair. He would take the first watch. Between the chains and the charms he had placed around the room, he could afford to let his mind wonder a bit while he waited for the Elders’ emissary.

As it often did of late, his mind wondered back to the first witch he ever knew. The only girl to ever steal his heart. The night he had gone to propose, with the latest news suggesting the war was almost over, he had found their table empty despite Harry’s being late.

The maître d’ explained that Fiona had neither called nor arrived, nor had anyone matching her description. They had been planning this evening for almost three months, their various missions keeping them apart for far too long. It had been two weeks since their last phone call, almost as long since he received any word from her.

 She had been assigned to listen in on a general, with the army intelligence convinced she was some sort of psychic, able to read objects by touching them and giving information to the higher ups so they could act on it. As long as her information was accurate and kept traitors from being able to derail the war effort, Headquarters had not been picky about her methods.

Harry was worried. Worried sick. He ran. She had a roommate when she was here in London. Perhaps Jane would know where to find Fiona.

If he could describe his emotions at the hotel as worried, what he felt when he arrived at Fiona’s flat would be pure panic. All of her things were gone and it was drafty and cold in a way that only came from a place that had been uninhabited for a while. An empty home.

Harry spun wildly, mad. He needed to find some clue to tell him where Fiona was. What had happened to her.

“Sir?”

Whipping around, Harry faced a little old lady in a faded yellow dress and brown sweater, her spectacles low on her nose. She stood just inside the doorway of Fiona and Jane’s flat, a thick cane helping hold her upright.

“Are you looking for Jane Plumfield?”

“No, I’m looking for Fee.”, he corrected himself, “Fiona Desmond. She lived here with Jane.”

The elderly lady nodded.

“Sad story.”

Harry moved forward, seizing upon the information.

“Sad story?”

“Yes, poor thing went ‘round the bend. Whatever work she had been doing with the government, with this terrible war, drove the poor girl mad. She was hearing voices and setting fires. And she would make these terrible, fowl smelling things in the cookpot at night. Jane said that they were inedible. One smelled like something had died in the pot, even after Jane spent half the day scrubbing it clean.”

Harry interrupted her, needing to know where Fiona was now.

“Who decided she was mad?”

“A doctor. Jane said the poor girl was talking about being able to hear the thoughts of those around her. That’s why Jane called for some help. Then they came and took her away. I spoke to Jane a few days later, right after she informed the landlord that she was returning home, away from all this fighting and the war, and she said she had tried to visit Fiona but they wouldn’t allow it. They told Jane that the poor girl was refusing to take medicine or eat, so they had her tied and were forcing the food and medication into her. Poor thing. She was so sweet.”

The woman jabbed Harry in the arm with a gnarled knuckle.

“That’s why no young girl ought to be allowed to help in this forsaken war. It’s no place for young ladies. Especially not delicate, sweet girls like Fiona.”

She let out a deep sigh.

“Poor thing.”

Harry flew out of the building and to Headquarters. He had to get her out. He had to convince them that she was not mad, she was simply able to do things that others could not. She was magical, not mad.

For weeks, Harry fought just to be able to see her. He had finally gotten another doctor, a psychiatrist, to look at her. He declared she was somewhat lucid and not-dangerous. This meant Harry was able to get in to see her.

He was shown to a room up high in the sanitarium, the temperature far too chilly for anyone’s health, let alone comfort. He shivered a bit as he walked along the hall, following the orderly. Then, a few minutes later, they arrived in a room that reminded him of a prison cell, only less spacious and darker.

“Here, patient 2008.”

“Her _name_ is Fiona Desmond.”, Harry harshly corrected the orderly. The other man appeared not to notice as he opened a long, thin cage that was situated between the hall they stood in and the rectangle Fiona sat in.

“Call when you’re ready to leave.”, the orderly said before turning and walking out. Harry waited till the man had gone before turning back to Fiona. What he saw made him ill.

Her hands were thin and her wrists bruised, her clavicals each jutted out sharply through her too-pale skin. Her gown hung from her like tent over a single pole. Her normally curly, beautiful dark brown hair hung in matter clumps, the color dulled, a sheen of oil weighing it down.

“Fee?”

She paused from the swaying she had been doing. Her head inclinded slightly. Harry broke.

“Fee? It’s me. Your Harry.”

A broken chuckle, followed by a sigh.

“No. You’re just another figment of my imagination. Another phantom of my mind. Another thing that isn’t real, here to torment me.”

“Never, no. Fiona, I promise you, I’ll do anything to get you out of here. Then we can run away. Far away. Anywhere you want to go. Back to Ireland, off to the wilds of Africa, off to America. Anywhere. How about China? You could have all the tea you want there.”

She turned around, her face worse than sunken. Her eyes were hollow. Her gaze unfocused for too long before settling on his face. She smiled sadly.

“You look so real.”

He reached, breaking the first rule they had repeated back to him when he arrived. He tried to touch her.

“Touch my hand. See that I am real.”

“No. I’m not supposed to engage the voices.”

“I’m not a voice, Fiona. I’m the man you love, the man who loves you. We were to be married once the war was over, do you remember? Please? Please Fiona, tell me you remember?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t remember my dreams anymore. Not since… the medication and the… therapy. They did not let me sleep. They kept me awake for a while. I wanted to sleep. To dream. They said my dreams are bad. They make me sicker.”

Harry fell to his knees, still clinging to the cage wall separating him from Fiona. For the first time since meeting her, he wished he had her powers. That he could pull down this wall and free her.

“Please, Fiona, remember? Remember me? Remember us? All our plans?”

Fiona turned around, laying her head against the wall, the rest of her still seated in the hard, wooden chair. She looked so small. Too small. Fragile.

“Fiona, please?”

“You seem so real.”

“Because I am real.”

She smiled, her eyes looking sleepy as her eyelids drooped.

“Maybe I’ll dream some more about you. You seem so nice.”, she muttered before she drifted off. Harry did not move from the spot, he stayed as if rooted.

For seven months, Harry went to every lawyer, doctor, general, and really anyone who might be able to help Fiona. He even reached out to her priest back in Ireland, getting the man to write a letter saying that it was best for Fiona to be returned home where she could be looked after by her mother, grandfather, and sisters. Nothing worked.

Then, one morning, Harry received a letter from the sanitarium. He got excited. It looked rather official.

Tearing it open before the carrier could take a single step back, Harry began to read it furiously. He needed to know when Fiona would be released. He was two-thirds of his way through the letter before it began to sink in.

They had found Fiona in her cell, dead by her own hand. They were at a loss for how she had found the materials, yet she had. And now she was gone. They were notifying him to come collect her effects, hoping he would return them to her mother for them.

Harry sank to the floor. Fiona was gone. Dead. He failed. He failed to save her.


	6. Guardian of the Charmed Ones

Only a few days after learning of Fiona’s death, Harry was assigned to a particularly dangerous mission in Italy. Harry took it. He shouldn’t have. He was in no shape for espionage.

Then, four days into the assignment, Harry dove forward shield a young child from a mad man’s bullet. Harry was supposed to be getting information from a bar tender in the back, not inserting himself into unrelated situations, no matter how dire.

He had disobeyed that rule and now lay with a bullet in his chest. The little girl he helped was sitting next to him, holding one of his hands. She was so little and she was crying, hot tears hitting Harry’s cheek.

“It’s alright,” he coughed, “no need to cry.”

“But you’re hurt.”

He smiled, feeling the blackness he knew the be death.

“I’ll be right as rain… in no time. Go outside and… wait for help.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, trying to smile. The girl got up, watching him as she walked backward a bit before turning to head up the stairs, out onto the street. Harry was glad she had not stayed. He did not wish for a child to see this.

Being so young, he supposed he should be angry. Instead he looked forward to his death with a smile. If his gran had been right, Fiona would be waiting by the pearly gates for him, so they could go in together. He was excited.

Then everything got messed up, and it turned out he had won some mystical position he had previously been totally unaware of. Then there was the training. And the explaining the Fiona was not waiting for him at the Pearly Gates. And then he was brought back to Earth, to care for witches.

His first assignment was a young woman named Harriett. She was a biracial girl in a war-torn Europe, with a gift for starting fires with a thought, and a knack for puns. Next was Celia. She was a citizen of Rome and had learned at her grandmother’s knee, though she was a lousy cook, though her husband Lorenzo thought nothing of it and did all the cooking for them, their four sons, and Harry when he was around for dinner.

Harry protected all of these women, safeguarding their lives against any and all threats that presented themselves. He helped many of them learn to use their abilities or to hone certain skills. One of them had even called out to him when she went into labor too soon and Harry had been the one to take her to the hospital. His most-recent assignment, before coming to look after the Charmed ones, had been to care for a witch in Canada named Tatianna. She worked mostly as a healer and spirit guide.

And now, Harry was the guardian of the Charmed ones. The ones from the prophecy. Maggie, gifted with the same power that Fiona had used so effectively to fight the evils of WWI. Macy, as smart and tender as Fiona, then Mel who shared the fire and stubbornness he had so admired in his Fiona.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Macy’s steps coming up to the attic. From the smell wafting up, she was carrying a mug of Twinnings Irish Breakfast. He smiled.

“Harry?”

Turning to look over his shoulder, he watched as she came through the door. Sure enough, she held two mugs of piping hot tea. She offered him one with an outstretched hand. Harry took it with a nod.

“Thank you.”

“I promise, no truth serum in this batch.”

He smiled.

“Irish Breakfast.”, taking a sip he hummed his appreciation.

“You boiled the tea.”

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve been drinking tea for a very long time.”

She nodded.

“Mel says you fought in World War One, so I guess you have had a lot of tea. Sorry I didn’t have English. I’ve always liked the caffeine hit from Irish, and there’s almost nothing with caffeine in this house.”

Offering a one-armed shrug, Harry took another sip.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s alright. I know so much about the three of you, it is only natural that you would be curious about my background.”

“True. How much do you know about us?”

“I know your basic powers, your backgrounds, some other details.”

“So…nothing too personal then?”

“What, like a toy you slept with till you were 15? No. Nothing like that.”

Macy nodded.

“Good to know.”

“Perhaps I should publish a rule book someday.”, he tried to joke.

Macy grinned, adding, “Might not be a bad idea.”

Harry sipped the tea, watching as the demon pretended to sleep.

“When will they come for it?”

“Soon.”

“You were pretty impressive, fighting that mirror demon. I was a little surprised they didn’t just make you do the job.”

“No, it will take a bit more… wattage, than what I’ve got. I can do a good deal of damage, but to kill it without causing some major blowback, that is up to the Elders and not meager Whitelighters like myself.”

“How do you become a Whitelighter? Were you born like this, or did you like... I don’t know, apply for the job someplace?”

Harry smiled to help ease her worries. He could tell she was genuinely curious, a scientist’s mind at work.

“You have to die first. But that is a story for another day, when we do not have… an audience, or the looming threat of a prophecy about the end of the world, looming over our heads.”

Macy nodded.

“The tea is quite good, by the way. Much better than what you brought to my office.”

“That was Nikko’s, actually. I switched the bottles by accident. Apparently my mix-up almost got her fired and it screwed up a case.”

Harry made a sympathetic face. He was well aware of what happened with new witches, still honing their skills and figuring out how to hide their true nature from the world at large. It was complicated.

“Mind if I stay up here with you for a bit? Nikko just came over and Maggie is scrolling through Tumblr in the living room. I can only take so much of her suggestions for cute tops.”

Harry smiled.

“You brought me tea, be a shame to kick you out when no one else around here seems to appreciate a fine cuppa.”

She smiled. The two stayed there, sipping tea and keeping an eye on the demon in his vessel. Harry decided that perhaps this had not been a curse of an assignment. That the Charmed ones were just lost, as he had been once, and now he could do for them what he had been unable to do for Fiona. Keep them on an even keel, to protect them- even from themselves at times.

Yes. This was a good assignment, and he was glad of it. He was the Guardian of the Charmed ones.

He heard a chuckle and looked up over the rim of his mug to see the figment he had carried for decades now. She was smiling sneakily at him.

“I told you you’d be happy again someday.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“Go on, enjoy your cuppa.”

He muttered quietly, hardly realizing till Macy said his name.

“Pardon?”

“You were muttering under your breath. Something about a road?”

A simple thing he first learned from Fiona.

“May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind be ever at your back. May soft rain fall upon your fields, and a warm sun fall upon your face. May you have a warm hearth on a cold night. And until we meet again, may the Lord hold you in the palm of His hand.”

Nodding, Macy smiled.

“Irish toast.”

“Yes. Fiona taught it to me, in Gaelic and English.”

“You speak Gaelic?”

“Just that prayer.”

“Were you… in love with her?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. You must miss her.”

“Every day.”, confessed the Whitelighter.

“How do you deal with that? Living so long and losing people?”

“I fight evil, I protect people, I enjoy a good cup of tea, sometimes I even make terrible jokes. I’m also prone to long, boring, repetitive speeches.”

They chuckled.

“Well, I’m glad you got assigned to us. And I’m sorry about Fiona.”

He gave a quick nod, then returned his attention back to the demon and his vessel. Within hours, the Elders’ emissary would arrive and it would be up to him or her, to grapple with the task of ending the demon permanently. He would spare his charges the grisly details if he could. He doubted he would be given the option.

For now, he would enjoy his tea and the company, while trying not to think about what awaited. He was sure they would fight him, Mel especially. Unfortunately, he did not think he had it in him to fight her and say she was wrong. He would not want to have to kill an innocent to take out the demon hiding within her.

“Will they be able to save her?”, Macy questioned.

“I hope so.”

She nodded. Harry could tell, she knew. And now they waited. For the Elders, for this new demon they faced, and for the prophecy.


End file.
